Page 62 of Ghost
EIGHTEEN
Willow
Forest straightens,offering me a smile that softens the sharp angles of his face. “Mrs. Reynolds. Welcome.”
“Just Willow, please.” I rise, feeling oddly formal in my borrowed clothes. “Thank you for everything your team has done.”
“Mason Blackwood asked for help.” He shrugs those massive shoulders like the weight of the world barely registers. “That’s all I needed to know.”
“You know Mason well?”
“Yeah.” Forest’s smile tilts, half-respect, half-history. “Guardian HRS subcontracts with his company when we need elite-level personal protection support, or when we need to help people disappear.”
I blink. “His company?”
Forest nods. “Cerberus Personal Security Systems. Blackwood built it from the ground up. Field work, tactical logistics, high-risk extractions—he’s one of the few we trust to run solo ops if things get ugly.”
He glances at the laptop where my evidence is displayed. “Mitzy getting you set up with backups?”
“Yes, she’s been incredibly helpful.”
“Good. Once everything’s secured, I’d like you to join us for dinner. There are some people you should meet—the core team who’ll be helping with your situation.”
“I’d like that.” The prospect of a normal meal, of conversation not dominated by immediate survival concerns, appeals more than I expected.
After Forest leaves, Mitzy finishes creating the backups, confirming that the evidence is now stored on multiple secure servers, encrypted with protocols even the NSA would struggle to crack.
“There,” she says with satisfaction. “Now, even if Reynolds somehow manages to find and destroy every physical copy, the data still exists. He can’t bury this.”
The realization hits me with unexpected force—Steffan can no longer make the evidence disappear. For the first time in years, I hold genuine power over my own fate.
“Thank you,” I say, the words inadequate for what this means.
Mitzy nods understanding. “Dinner’s in thirty minutes. Great room. You remember the way?”
“I do. Thanks.”
After she leaves, I spend a few minutes gathering myself. Bear watches from the bed, his dark eyes following my movements as I pace the room, trying to process everything that’s happened in the past forty-eight hours.
Two days ago—three?—I was fleeing through a Montana blizzard, certain I would die. Now I’m in a secure mountain fortress with a team of professionals dedicated to my safety and bringing Steffanto justice.
And somewhere between Montana and Idaho, Mason is making his way to me, keeping the promise he made as we parted.
I’ll be right behind you.
Bear jumps down from the bed, padding to my side and pressing against my leg as if sensing my thoughts. I scratch behind his ears, finding comfort in this simple connection.
“Let’s go to dinner,” I tell him.
Dinner is held in a room adjacent to the Great Room. A large dining table is set for seven, although it could easily seat twice that number. A fire crackles in the stone fireplace, and the delicious aroma of real home-cooked food fills the air. Forest stands near the fireplace, deep in conversation with someone I haven’t met yet.
He turns as Bear and I enter, beckoning us over. “Willow, come meet the rest of the team.”
The man beside Forest is tall, although Forest stands head and shoulders over him. His frame is leaner, but still packed with muscles. There’s a solidness to him, evident in the watchful intensity of his gaze as it sweeps over me, assessing.
“CJ,” he introduces himself simply, offering a calloused hand. “Head of Field Operations and the Guardian teams.”
Skye joins us, followed by Mitzy. Martinez and Jackson are barely a step behind. Dinner conversation flows surprisingly easy, touching on everything from Cooper’s successful surgery to the security measures in place around the mountain.
